No Greater Love
by Somebody's Dark Angel
Summary: Prue was willing to die, that the child inside her might live.


No Greater Love 

Kind of AU, but you'll find out how later.  Set in early 2000.

The girls are witches, and Prue's husband knows it.

Prue Halliwell Trudeau lay in the darkened examining room as the technician moved the ultrasound transducer across her abdomen.

"You're definitely pregnant," the technician said.  "You can see for yourself."

Prue looked closer at the tiny dot on the screen – the new life growing within her.  She could barely contain her excitement.  Suddenly the technician's expression tightened.  "What do you see?" Prue asked tensely.

"I just want to get a doctor to take a closer look," the woman answered.

Prue's sister, sitting nearby, squeezed her sister's hand.  "Please try not to worry," Piper said.

The torment, however, showed in the sister's eyes as well.

After examining the image, the doctor recommended that Prue consulted Kristin Richards, a gynaecologist and obstetrician, who practised near Prue's home in San Francisco.

As they left, Prue turned to her sister.  "It's back," she murmured.  "I know it."

From early childhood Prue had been raised in a close family that encouraged competition.  She thrived on pitting herself against her two younger sisters and best friend Andy.  There were running races, keen games of badminton and tennis.  Even though Prue didn't always win, she never gave in until the game was over.  Above all, her family taught her always to face a problem squarely and do her best.

At 22, Prue was found to have dysgerminoma, a rare ovarian cancer.  Surgeons removed her right ovary and right Fallopian tube.  Then, to kill and lingering cancer cells, her doctors recommended either radiation or chemotherapy.  Radiation was the more proven therapy, but it would destroy Prue's remaining ovary – and her chance of ever having children.  She decided to try chemotherapy.

Once her chemotherapy was completed, doctors were confident that she had beaten the cancer.  However, Prue was still haunted by the fear that she may never be a mother.

During the 1999 Christmas holidays, she missed her first period since the cancer treatment.  She was 28 and newly married to Andy Trudeau, her childhood best-friend and high-school sweetheart.  He knew about her medical history, for he was one of the people who helped her through it all.  The chances were she'd never bear children, she said.  So when the home pregnancy test came up positive, the couple were overjoyed.

Now, two weeks later, Prue and Phoebe sat nervously in Dr Richards' office, awaiting the results of the ultrasound.

"You are six-and-a-half weeks pregnant," the doctor said softly, "but I'm afraid there's bad news too.  We've detected a large mass in your left ovary.  We can't be sure what it is."

Prue's eyes grew teary, but she didn't cry.  "Will…my baby be alright?" she asked.

"I can't be sure at this point," Richards said.

Since Prue would require specialized care, Dr Richards referred her to Dr Katie Jordan at Lucas Hospital in North Beach, part of the San Francisco College School of Medicine.  Dr Jordan, director of the division of gynaecologic oncology, had been one of Dr Richards' teachers.

Andy and Prue drove to see Dr Jordan later that week.  A slender woman with a warm smile, Dr Jordan inspired confidence.  The couple liked her almost immediately.  And almost from the moment she met Prue, Dr Jordan knew this would be a special patient.  Prue's controlled, protective personality appealed to her, as did the young woman's vulnerability.  She and the couple were on a first-name basis almost immediately.

After examining Prue's medical records and ultrasound results, Dr Jordan had no doubt that Prue's cancer had returned.  Gently, she explained to Prue that the best way to save her life was to remove the cancerous ovary immediately.  Again, the more proven follow-up treatment would be radiation.

"Combined with surgery, this will give you a 90% chance of a full recovery." It would also mean the end of Prue's pregnancy.

"I know you're telling me what is medically best for me," Prue said finally, "but this is the only child I will ever be able to have.  Isn't there some way I can be treated and not lose my baby.  I'm wiling to take risks for myself."

Another possibility, Dr Jordan said, would be to remove the ovary at 12 weeks of gestation – when the foetus would have a better chance of surviving the surgery – and withhold follow-up treatment until about the seventh month of pregnancy.  Then the infant could be born by Caesarean section, and Prue's radiation treatment could begin.  But this hinged on the hope that the cancer did not spread during that period.  If it did, Dr Jordan explained, Prue would be in grave danger.

"Could she die?" Andy asked.

"There's always that chance," said Dr Jordan, "no matter what we do."

Andy's teeth clamped down on his tongue so hard it started to bleed.

Prue felt torn.  "What would you do Katie?" she asked.

As a doctor, Dr Jordan had already given her advice: remove the cancerous ovary and give Prue every chance she could.  Putting herself in the young woman's shoes, though, Dr Jordan knew he choice would be different.  "I'd wait and see," she said.  "It's a risk, but it's worth taking."

"Then let's wait." Prue said.

In February, Andy and Prue returned to Lucas Hospital for Prue's surgery.  She went into the operating theatre late in the morning on Valentine's Day.

Exposing the affected area, Dr Jordan saw that the dysgerminoma had totally invaded and twisted the ovary.  It seemed miraculous that Prue had been able to get pregnant at all.

Probing gently, Dr Jordan cut away the cancerous ovary and Fallopian tube, as well as some lymph nodes; these went for biopsy.

As Prue emerged from the anaesthetic, she asked, "Is my baby OK?"

"Doing beautifully," Dr Jordan assured her.  Prue smiled and drifted back to sleep.

Later that afternoon, Dr Jordan entered Prue's room and took her hand.

"Your cancer has spread," the doctor said.  The pathology lab had found it in the lymph nodes.  "I'm terribly sorry, but we can't hold back treatment any longer."

Dr Jordan felt that the only possibility for saving the baby – and Prue – was chemotherapy.  This might put Pre at even higher risk, since chemotherapy was the less proven treatment for dysgerminoma.  The baby would also be at risk, because chemotherapy attacks the body's most rapidly dividing cells – including those of a foetus.  If any of these toxic drugs were to cross the placenta and reach the baby, Dr Jordan realised, there was no telling the damage they might do.

Prue remained unwavering.  "Do everything you can save my baby," she pleaded.

Five days after surgery, Prue began a four-month regimen of chemotherapy.  Dr Jordan had sought to find drugs that would not harm Prue's baby.  Each week-long treatment session in the hospital was followed by two weeks of recovery at home.  Even with anti-nausea medication, she was violently ill.  Andy helped Prue to the bathroom, cleaned up after her, massaged her back and hugged her.

"We pledges to love one another in sickness and in health," he would remind her.

A stream of visitors poured through Prue's hospital room: her sisters, friends and even Prue's father.  With their father and friends, Prue fought to keep a happy face.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Prue asked the ultrasound technicians one day.  They couldn't be sure, but suspected a girl.  After this, Prue, Andy, Piper and Phoebe referred to the baby as "she".

It was only at night, with Andy and her sisters, that Prue's cheerful expression gave way to her darkest fears.  Not one to normally share her emotions, the current situation made Prue all that more willing to tell them how she was really feeling.

"I could never get through this without you," she told Andy one evening as he gently stroked her neck and head.  "But if I don't make it, and our baby survives, tell her how much I loved her, and how much I wanted her.  Don't let her forget me."

In the middle of May, 24 weeks into Prue's pregnancy, Dr Jordan wanted to do a follow-up ultrasound of the baby.  Prue watched closely as images flickered on the monitor.  Her baby's human shape was clearly visible now.  Seeing that picture of the life growing within her filled her with intense joy.  Then, suddenly, a white-coloured mass loomed ominously on the screen.

"What's that?" she blurted, terrified.

"I'm not sure," Dr Jordan told her.  "It may be a tumour.  Or it might be a benign growth, possibly a cyst."

For the first time, Prue's optimism almost dissolved.  _I can feel her moving inside me_, she thought.  _I can't lose her now!_

At 24 weeks, the baby was still 16 weeks from full term.  They could wait another four weeks to see what happened to the mass, Dr Jordan said.  At that point the child might survive outside the womb.  This was Prue's slender thread of hope.

During the long drive home, Andy kept his arm around Prue.  "Maybe," he said, "'They' sent you this little angel to you to let you know you were ill, so that they could save your life.  Maybe that was their purpose." _And if this baby does nothing more than save Prue's life,_ Andy thought, _that's all I could ask for._

Prue wasn't ready to give up, however.  Sustaining her was an absolute trust in Dr Jordan.  _If anyone on this earth can get us through this ordeal, _Prue thought, _she can._

On June 8 – Andy's birthday – the couple finally had cause to celebrate.  Prue's four months of chemotherapy were over.  Follow-up tests showed no change in the mysterious mass.  Dr Jordan was encouraged.

 Back home, Prue continued to have regular ultrasound scans.  At the end of July, she underwent a series of tests – called a biophysical profile – to determine the well-being of the foetus.  During the exam, she saw a worried look cloud the technician's face.

"I know something's wrong," she said.  "Is my baby all right?"

For the right answer, Prue had to see Dr Richards, who had continued to act as her regular obstetrician.

"Your baby doesn't appear to be growing well." Dr Richards said.  "She may need to be delivered soon.  I think you should go to Lucas Hospital as soon as possible."

Within an hour, Prue, Andy and Piper were speeding to the hospital.  Phoebe had promised to come as soon as she got out of class.  Dr Jordan immediately put Prue in the delivery suite and attached her to a foetal monitor.  The baby was now 36 weeks old, one month premature, and not moving very much.  This, the doctor explained, might indicate that the foetus was not getting enough oxygen.

Holding Prue's hand, Andy kept repeating, "Everything's going to be all right.  It's going to work out."  But after midnight, the baby condition still hadn't improved.  Piper and Phoebe had swapped places, as Piper had to go to P3, but Phoebe was keeping her informed on the proceedings.

"I think she'll do better if we get her out," Dr Jordan said.

"Then please," Prue answered, "let's do it."

The Caesarean procedure went smoothly.  At 4:20 am on July 30, 2000, Prue gave birth to a 1.75-kilo daughter.  Immediately, Dr Jordan looked for signs of abnormality.  Certainly, the baby was small – partly the effect of chemotherapy.  But when she screamed and wiggled her arms and legs, Dr Jordan was ecstatic.  _She's normal!_

The doctor then turned to remove the white mass in Prue's pelvic region.  On inspection, it was clearly a benign cyst.  But that didn't mean Prue was free of cancer.  Dr Jordan removed form lymph nodes for lab study – and hoped.

That afternoon, Prue held her child for the first time.  No longer could she hold back the tears and flood of emotion that has built up for months.

The baby was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit.  When Andy was not at Prue's bedside, he'd go to the unit and insist on feeding his daughter – who bore a strong resemblance to him.  Wanting to dress her up, he went to a toy shop and bought clothing for Cabbage Patch dolls – a prefect fit.

Prue and her family now waited nervously for the pathology report.  Definitive results would take a few days of lab work.

Five days after the birth of the baby, Dr Jordan hurried into Prue's room, beaming.  "Good news!"  she said.  "There's no sign of cancer anywhere!"

Andy, Piper and Phoebe rushed to hug Prue.  Then everyone turned and hugged Dr Jordan.  All shared tears of joy, including Katie Jordan.

In January 2001, six months after the baby was born, Prue returned to North Beach with her young daughter.  This time, they visited Dr Jordan at her home.  As the two women embraced, all the fears an pain of the past seemed to dissolve.  The doctor held the little girl in her arms.

"Look at how big you've grown," she whispered.

"She's four-and-a-half kilos now!" a proud and happy Prue said.

When it came time for them to leave, Prue told Dr Jordan, "You'll always be a part of us."

She and Andy knew they would never forget her.  In the doctor's honour, they had named their daughter Jordan Patricia Trudeau.

Katie Jordan smiled down at her namesake and gently kissed her goodbye.


End file.
